Broken
by Hydrophilia
Summary: He called me a good girl. He petted my now-long hair, he stroked my spine down to the tip of my tail bone. He hugged me into his warm arms, He kissed my sensitive lips. I felt loved, but I couldn't love him back. -Oneshot-


The best day of my life has passed by a long time ago. Well over 17 years. The best day of my life was the day that I was born, because you don't understand anything when you're a kid. You think the world is full of happy people and that everything will be okay as long as you're honest and try to please everybody. The day that my sisters and I were born, we were together with our professor and we were happy. It was our first birthday.

But now...now that happiness and perfection is gone. Now we're just overgrown, we're too old to fight crime. I graduated a few weeks ago. Blossom graduated when she was 14, and now she's somewhere in California. Bubbles dropped out last year, and went off to Asia to be an idol. She's really popular now. The professor died a while ago, the villains are gone. I'm alone now.

Lately, I've been job hunting. Sure, I could live off of the huge inheritance that the Professor left for me, but I need to get out of the house. I need to do something other then loaf around, but...I don't find the motivation. I can't feel enough to get up and walk out of that door. The sunlight feels like burns to my skin now. I hate television now. I hate video games and movies and sitting on a couch or even just sleeping. It all feels empty. Empty because I can't find him anymore. I can't find Butch.

So now, my apartment is empty except for a bookshelf, a kitchen, and a closet. The bookshelf is full. I've picked up reading in his absence. I've read everything from _Flowers for Algernon _to _The Other Mother _to even the whole _Wizard of Oz_ series. And I've got to say, _Algernon_ is my favorite.

I pick up my copy of the book, complete with the little white mouse on the cover, and I hug it to my chest. It's just past midnight now. Perfect time to find the type of employment that I'm looking for. I set the book down on the top of the bookshelf, to take a shower.

The steam feels cold against my skin. The scalding hot water feels like nothing. I feel nothing. Or maybe, just maybe, he took enough of my soul, my heart, to make me numb inside. I feel twisted. Ashamed. I scrub my skin and hair until blood promises to seep through the deep cuts left by my perfectly short fingernails. I walk out, covering the scars and hurt up with a tough exterior. I mess up my hair, making it elegantly disheveled in the wake of the early morning moonlight. I scowl in the mirror. Butch always said that my constant fear and anger made me ugly. If he thinks that, then I must be god-fucking-hideous at this point.

I pull out my pack of cigarettes, light up, and start throwing on my makeup. I slather on a thick sheet of eyeliner, pointed up near the corners of my eyes. I smear clear-ish pink gloss on my lips, and cover up the bags under my eyes. I haven't slept in days, but I don't need sleep. I'll only go to sleep when he's back at my side.

I walk into my closet, find a black jean mini skirt, a leather tube-top, lime green fishnets, and black combat boots. The winter air is cold, but I don't care. I need to feel right now, weather its pain or not. I fly out the window, going to the one place I know for a fact has the kind of employment that I'm craving.

I shiver in the cold heat of the October wind, landing straight in front of a glitzy little bar. I waltz in, and everybody stops. Either they think I'm crashing some sort of party, or they don't know who I am. Either way, they're amazed enough to stare. I place my hands on my broad hips and walk straight through the bar, to the back room that says **MANAGERS ONLY**. I wipe the sweat off of my forehead, and sit down in the chair right across from the owner of the bar. Him. He looks up from his desk full of slut money and substance. He sees me, and he doesn't see anything past the revenue he'll make off of his new product. That's all I am now. I'm just a fucking product.

Him immediately knows why I'm here. He offers me three choices. I could either be a sidewalk whore, sucking and fucking for a few bucks, a dancer, giving lap dances and doing dirty things with the other dancers. The third choice was rather odd. Him told me that I could be his 'special little pet', but I think he was mostly savoring the fact that a former Power Puff, a former goody two-shoes that used to toss him in jail every other week, was begging him for a job.

I looked at Him straight in the eye, and asked for the dirtiest, nastiest job he could think of. And from that day on, I became His little pet.

I've been forced to do the sickest things that I could imagine for barely enough to support myself and my sick little habits. Him made me quit smoking. He said that it made me taste like ashes when He tried to kiss me. Him made me eat less, He said he liked it better when I was younger. When I used to have no hips. I'm lucky I'm still flat as a board, barely and an a-cup, or else He would have forced me to get a breast reduction. He makes me wear ridiculous outfits, like slutty versions of the old Power Puff uniform I wore, or little police outfits and corsets. Basically, anything His former pets used to wear. He even dug out little puffy dresses and Anime cosplays. I had no idea what I was diving into when I agreed to be His pet.

Him made me work parties for his business associates. I lived in His mansion. I kept my books with me, and He liked it. He likes girls who read. Him said that I've lasted longer then any of his other pets.

I worked for Him for 2 full years. I'm now 19. Him has me doing strange stuff to strange people. I've screwed most of the underworld baddies that I've put in jail. And I'm glad. I can't feel anything anymore. I'm just another round-of-the-corner slut, on a collar for my master.

Today, Him has me doing something special. He's running a birthday party for his children. They're turning 18. I had no idea that Him had kids. But, it doesn't matter. Him wants me to dance for them, give them a birthday show, I guess. I told him yes, of course I would do it. Anything for my master.

He called me a good girl. He petted my now-long hair, he stroked my spine down to the tip of my tail bone. He hugged me into his warm arms, He kissed my sensitive lips. I felt loved, but I couldn't love him back. Him has always told me what a good little pet I've been. I moved silently to my room, and I cried. I hugged my stomach, and I fell to the floor. I cried harder and harder, and I couldn't figure out why. I felt like somebody took the air away from my lungs, and hallowed out my chest.

I got up, straighted myself out, and put on the outfit that Him wanted me to put on. A black corset with a detachable back tail made out of feathers and light black gauze-like fabric. I pulled up my hair, put black feathers into it, and put on a masquerade mask. I came out of the room when I was told, and led the other dancers in the dance. We were mounting the poles when I saw his face. I was directly in front of him. I was in front of Butch, I stopped. He had girls hanging off of his arms, and he looked happy.

I ran out of the room, I cried. I tore off the costume and flew outside, naked. It was late July, and the heat nearly burned my sensitive skin. I went to the one place that I knew had what I needed.

I scampered into the professor's old lab. I found a small vial full of liquid. I knew what I needed to do. I took a nearby needle, and I filled it to the brim with the black fluid. I injected it into my neck, and II immediately felt dizzy and faint.

I took a razor and flew out to the mansion. I carved my stomach open, letting my now-black blood flow out of my wounds, hoping it would kill me faster. I sliced open my neck. Let long gashes cut down my arms and legs and sides. My whole body was marked.

Before I let out my last long breath, I sat up. I carved these words into my stomach:

**I LOVE YOU, BUTC**

And then I died.

* * *

My boyfriend broke my heart. I couldn't get the grunge out of my system, and I needed to write. I couldn't fit this into my main story, _Camwhore. _I'm sorry that it takes me so long to write.


End file.
